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So I’m back in Beijing. Left 1 August 2014, and back 18 August 2014 — Just in time for the MR’s birthday! Don’t ask about the cost. I’m already very poor, this trip made me pauper than I already was. It can only get better from here right?!

I have never experienced anything like this during my four years in Beijing. I had lived off campus, in a small neighbourhood near my school. Not great, but not that bad either. I had a nice kitchen, good bathroom with awesome water pressure and heating system. Basically, I lived good. I didn’t have to worry about moving after each semester, or to worry about the cleanliness of the room. I had everything under control.

This trip back to Beijing was an “adventure”. One day before flying, the MR texted and said that I wouldn’t like where we were supposed to live. (Story: MR is going to live with his friend, R. R screwed up the whole schedule and MR had to live in R’s room for two weeks and R is going to live in his friend, N’s room. I wanted to be with MR on his birthday so I did whatever I could to return. So upon knowing that I’m coming, MR suggested to R that we could live in N’s room instead —knowing that there was no roommates and all. As usual, R screwed up, again. It happened that there was another roommate, and a homeless person couching in the living room. Also, bathroom is disgusting and no lock. MR was upset, and he knew that I would be mad.) So right before I left, I hooked my friends up and they had helped to book a room in the student dormitory for me. We couldn’t stay for long because school’s starting, and we had to move after 6 nights spent in the small room. Happy? Not really. The room was small, but it was clean and the shower was good. Shared kitchen outside the room is also great.

We were financially strapped and had to spend 12 nights somewhere else before we could check into a nice hotel towards the end of my stay.

To be honest, it should be for another 5/6 nights because the MR can move into his room 1 September. Lo and behold, the apartment has a c-a-t. Goodness!!! Walao. I’m scared of fur, damn it. I was quite mad. Ok, really mad. Because the MR didn’t know there was a cat until he verbally agreed to stay with R and another roommate, O , who owns the damn cat. It’s not like they cannot own pets. But at the very least, let your soon-to-be roommate know about that?

Is that how guys do things? You don’t think through everything? And ultimately when things screwed up, they just throw their hands in the air, give you a I-can’t-do-anything-about-it look, and walk away. Idiots.

Then for the 12 nights, we had to resort to AIRBNB.

We got a place to live through airbnb and I couldn’t say it’s bad, but it’s not great either. Airbnb is a great platform for people to let out their rooms, their house for extra cash, and all but I think it kinda lacks quality assurance/quality control. So this is what it is now, airbnb will credit the bill into the host’s account 24hours after we’ve check-in. I thought it would be better for airbnb to credit half the bill into the host’s account, then the remaining half after we check out and rate it. Sure enough there’s a possibility that people might abuse the system, but it also pushes the hosts to really describe their place as it is, providing a great service for people who uses them and also gives the tenants an assurance. More to that, of course, just saying how it would make me feel a lot more comfortable.

Because right now, this place we got through airbnb… urm.. lets just say the bathroom grossed me out. EEKs.

Today time stopped for a bit and made me realised that I’m growing older each day. And as time tickles by, i’m just like a lil girl who is losing grip of her prized balloon. Everyone is in fact moving forward like me , too. I know I’m not alone yet it’s also a reminder to me that people including my grandparents are growing older….

I don’t know if cultures make a difference here , I assumed that even if there’s a culture difference, being filial isn’t one of them. Grew up in a fairly tradition family, we don’t do hugs or kisses. I got caned several times by my grandpa when I was young. I get a slap if I store food in my cheeks like a chipmunk. I cannot slurp the noodles loudly. I must bite with my mouth closed. I cannot sit with my legs opened. I get no rewards for getting good results but punishments for poor performance.

I grew up to be a -fairly-fine person. No revengeful feelings towards my grandparents, instead I love them to bits.

I remember I will clench my fist really tight whenever my grandpa caned me. I don’t cry–which probably makes it more frustrating for my grandpa—and that doesn’t make him happy. He will whip harder. I would clench my fist even harder.

Thinking back about those times, i’m glad i was caned. I cannot tolerate people who slurps their noodles here in china, because that sounds freaking gross and is something that uneducated people would do. I’m glad….so glad I did not turn out that way.